


Between Battles

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, First Meetings, Fluff, Paintball AU, but still, note: there are guns in here, paintball guns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 11:12:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4785293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shireen is new to Winterfell, and she jumps at a chance to hang out with new friends. When they turn out to be untrustworthy, she relies on the help of a stranger to keep her safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between Battles

**Author's Note:**

> [Picset](http://frozensnares.tumblr.com/post/129089854191/between-battles-shireen-is-new-to-winterfell-and)

_Friends. Friends, friends, friends._

Shireen repeats this to herself constantly, a reminder that she allows to permeate through every part of her mind. She’s been shoved in the backseat of a car with a bunch of people because they are _friends_. 

But still: paintball. That part was unavoidable. She’d heard all about it beforehand, done all the research she could to prepare herself. Injuries were common, mostly bruises and welts, and she was wrapped up in layers of clothes to protect herself. All in all, she would rather be reading, but she isn’t about to pass up an opportunity with people who were finally calling her a _friend_. Her heart was swelling just thinking about it, and she lets the thought fill her, swallowing down the panic that rose up every time she heard the distant, rapid firing of paintball guns.

She looks around at the group she’s with. It was the group she’d slide mostly easily into. They weren’t particularly popular or noticeable, but they weren't as snobby and rich as her cousins. Erdic Storm led the group, organized the trip, and invited his entire posse along. There were seven of them total, and Shireen is struggling to remember everyone’s names. She is grossly out-of-place, but she so desperately wants to fit in that she is forcing herself into it. Besides, paintball can’t be _that_ bad.

Walking along with the group, Shireen tries not to look like a duckling following them around. She locates the area for check-in and equipment retrieval for them, earning a small shoulder squeeze from Edric that makes her heart jump.

“Good job,” he says, moving forward and buying up a supply of paint for the day.

Shireen grins at the acknowledgement, feeling a little dazed even though the day is dreary and overcast. She’s been praying that it won’t rain, hoping that nothing will cut short her first experience is hanging out with friends. She gets so lost in thought that she is fully jarred when someone crashes hard into her shoulder with a muttered, “Nerd.”

Stepping away, Shireen looks over to the girls now giggling at her. Suddenly, she feels no remorse for forgetting their names. Then, she remembers that they are friends, and she should be polite. Before there’s any chance to respond, Edric steps back to the group. The girls all make a fuss about getting each other’s attention to focus on him, flipping their hair and taking up casual poses. Shireen resists the urge to groan, deciding that regardless of how much she wants to be included in this group, she will not become a clone of them.

“So I say we get our gear and head out to a practice field first,” Edric says loudly. He’s puffing up his chest and trying to stand tall regardless of how much Shireen can see his arms shaking under the weight of all the paint. He tosses it over to one of the boys in their group and shakes himself off, heading over to the equipment.

She follows after, getting suited up, and asking questions about the guns and gear they’re being given. The groans from her group come loud and clear, but she ignores them, strapping herself into the gear and making sure she’s covered up. The man working the place flinches slightly at seeing her face (which she ignores because after seventeen years, she’s used to it), but he recovers quickly enough and explains to her how the guns work and how to make sure they stay in shape on the field.

When she turns around, only the cacophony of the place greets her. Shireen is taken aback by how much it seems like an army camp, like they are actually suiting up for war, before she realizes that she’s quite possibly lost in this place. She hurries over to the practice field, finding her group easily. Her heart’s beating fast from all the chaos rolling through her at being here, being away from her norm, being with people, and actually using things that can cause damage. Dizzied by the thoughts, Shireen tries everything to clear her mind and focus because there is no way she’ll make it through the day without it.

“Over here!” Edric calls, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from his friend. They all snicker slightly, but Shireen jogs over.

“This is the practice field?” Shireen asks, trying to sound upbeat.

Edric nods. “We’re splitting up on different teams for this one,” he explains. “Some friendly practice before the real deal.”

“Sounds good,” Shireen says. She tucks the paintball gun between her knees, balancing herself before tying her hair back (she can see the recoil from several people). She puts on her facemask and leads the way out to the field. If anything comes out of today, she will not have it be that everyone thinks her a coward.

“Looking good,” Edric calls to her. She’d be lying if she said her heart wasn’t swooping at the compliment.

Someone scoffs. “Much better now that she’s all covered up,” he says. 

A roar of laughter follows this statement, and Shireen is glad that she has a facemask on to cover up the blush that rests on her cheeks. They’re only happy to see her here because they can’t see her scars. Because being covered up is better than actually seeing _her_ , and that hurts more than she will ever let on. She’s determined to change their mindset about her, so she presses on, keeping her chin up as she marches to her place on the field.

It feels oddly casual down here, surrounded by strangers all looking for a trill of pretend war and adrenaline. She tries to blend in, walking around casually, hoping she isn’t breaking any of the rules. 

A shrill whistle sounds, and the referee calls the match. She feels her heart in her ears, pounding louder than she’s ever heard it. She forgets herself momentarily, not knowing what she’s doing here when people are shooting at each other. Quickly, she chooses someone to follow, crouching down low to the ground. Somehow, she can still hear the crunch of the dirt beneath her sneakers as her goes, and she tries to steady her breathing and prepare herself to actually fire.

Poking out from behind a barrel, she sees the end of a gun pointed right at her. She recoils immediately, pressing against the wood to get out of harm’s way. The pressure of wind flies past her leg, and she pulls herself in closer, steeling herself. Then, she peeks out again, aiming and firing blindly. She only gets a few rounds off before she needs to hide again, feeling over exposed and far too much like prey. She attempts to sneak out again, to get another shot off and actually _hit_ something, but when she goes this time, a round is waiting for her.

There is a flare of pain on her outer thigh, and she winces hard, drawing back and immediately putting her hand to it. That proves to be a mistake because now her palm is smeared with bright yellow paint. Frustrating at herself for getting out of the round so quickly, Shireen shoves her hands and gun in the air so she can walk off the field without taking additional damage. She hurries off, hearing the rain of gunfire from behind her as she goes. Walking slightly up the hill toward the referee, she stops to turn around and observe the rest of the game. As she watches, she rubs her hand on the grass, taking off a majority of the paint.

The match ends fairly quickly, once one team has the other nearly depleted and they surround the few remaining players. Then, they are ushered off the field, but stray shots continue to go off as a few people practice their aim. Shireen walks off with them, feeling strangely accomplished though she only fired off a few shots that round. She meets up with her group, grinning at them as she takes off her mask.

“That was fun!” she says, ignoring the stinging pain in her thigh. It’s ignorable, though still sensitive against her jeans when her sweatpants rub against them. She walks normally, though, refusing to let them think her weak. She pulls from the adrenaline still running through her system, hoping that it’s going to keep her running.

The looks she gets in return are a mixture confusion and revulsion. Shireen is trying so hard to win their favor, and they still won’t stop staring at the scars on her face. She contemplates putting her facemask back on, but it is too hot for her to care about other people’s sensitivities.

Edric recovers the fastest. “Real field now?” he asks the group, gesturing with his thumb up the hill. Shireen heaves up her gun over her shoulder and nods, determined to keep herself on the up and up, keeping the small high from this experience coursing through her veins.

They end up driving up the hill, parking with the multitude of other cars. The tires crunch through the dirt, and there’s a loud slap of feet as they get their gear out of the car. Only one table appears to be occupied with a red-headed girl sitting on the tabletop. She’s scrolling through her phone, oblivious to everyone around her. They claim a table to hold their belongings, and Shireen takes a seat, slumping down slightly over her gun. She notices that everyone else is talking to each other, though. With great effort, she stands again, trying to edge her way into the conversation. Unfortunately, it doesn’t escape her notice that they seem less than thrilled to have her joining them.

Not a minute later, a loud burst of laughter cuts through all the conversation as the previous match ends and all the players walk off the field. A large group of them are loosely walking together, but what connects them the most is how they’re all tapping the butts of the guns against each other and generally still goofing off with each other. Shireen watches as the group throws down their guns and takes off their facemasks. One of them lags behind slightly, jogging to catch up. He’s in all black: black cargo pants, black hoodie, black sneakers, black beanie, and even black gloves.

She’s still staring at him when he pulls off his facemask, revealing a shock of auburn hair that stands out against the mass of black. He’s smirking, and he looks like he belongs here. He lifts a hand, catching an orange that was thrown at him. Then, he starts looking around, so she turns, realizing that it’s rude to be staring so openly.

After failing to join the conversation of her own group several times, she looks back to the other giant group, watching them goof off and share snacks. Unintentionally, she finds herself seeking out the boy she was staring at earlier, but she can’t find him anywhere. He comes back a few minutes later, carrying a few paintball guns and tossing them on the table. There’s still a smile on his face and she watches as he leans over the table and the red-headed girl feeds him a cracker, laughing all the while.

There’s a small tightness in her chest watching them, and she realizes that she is intruding, watching something personal that she is not a part of. She doesn’t know these people, has never met them. She guesses that there’s a very small chance they live in the area, but she has no business spying on them.

Someone throws her facemask at her, startling her somewhat, and she looks up to see everyone in her group—her actual group—prepping themselves for the next round. She bounces to her feet with renewed vigor, getting ready and remembering that she’s supposed to be enjoying herself here. Following her group, she still spots the other groups following them to the course and splitting themselves up. Before she gets on the course, Edric pulls her aside.

“So we’re all playing on the same side this time,” he tells her. He pulls out a strip of yellow tape and ties it to her arm. Then, he holds up his arm to show her his own. “We match!” he says. “I gotta go make sure everyone else has one, too!”

Shireen watches Edric run off, watching him get lost in the crowd. She feels herself settling into the nice feeling of being alone. The weight of the day starts to lean of her shoulders again, and she takes a short breath, steeling herself for the match ahead, determined to actually do something this time. Moving around, Shireen realizes that the field is primarily composed of haystacks. She quickly positions herself near one that looks like it will provide good cover, trying to reason her way through the field.

“Barrel sleeve,” someone says beside her. She feels a small tap on her arm, and she looks down. The end of her gun is still covered up, preventing stray shots during the time between matches. She pulls it off, turning to give her thanks. “You’d have a hard time hitting anything like that.”

She looks up, finding herself right next to the boy she’d been staring at earlier. For some reason, it doesn’t surprise her at all that she recognizes him with his facemask on. “Thanks,” she says, offering it not just to him but to every god that’s ever existed because her face happens to be covered up right now.

“Anytime,” he replies, looking over his own gun before there’s the shrill blast of a whistle and everyone bolts for cover.

Shireen quickly ducks behind a haystack, looking around for cover and a way to sneak forward. She wants in on the action this time, regardless of whether or not she gets hit in the process. Easing her way forward, she fires off a few rounds, progressing all the while. She still feels awkward, carrying the bulky gun around, feeling her steps being impeded by the clothes she decided to wear. Still, she presses on, aiming a few shots and feeling oddly satisfied when an _ow!_ comes right after one.

Smiling to herself, she presses her back to a haystack, thinking through her next course of action. Someone passing her shouts out, “Flank left!” so she proceeds in that direction, keeping her head down. Shireen finds a new haystack to recuperate behind, getting her courage up to go in again. As she turns, she sees a group of about four people from the other team all with their guns pointed directly at her.

Her body is freezing of its own accord, and it takes all her willpower to level her gun out and fire. Nothing happens. She clicks the trigger a few more times to no avail before she starts scrambling back, wondering why they haven’t shot yet and whether she’ll be black and blue everywhere by the time this is over.

Faintly, she hears a shout of “HEY!” before something large crashes into her and the sound of several shots go off at once. Her eyes are shut tight, hoping that that will help numb the pain she’s expecting, but nothing comes. When she finally gets the courage to open her eyes again, she finds herself face to face with the boy from before.

“Fuck,” he mutters. He shakes out his left hand, which is clutching his gun that’s now pointed behind him, tucked under his right arm. Bracing his weight on his other arm, he sits up slightly. “You okay?”

Shireen nods her head frantically. She’s fine, but she’s terribly concerned about whoever this is. “I—my gun isn’t working,” she says, hoping he can hear her through the facemask and the sound of shots going off around them.

“Well, I gotta get off field,” he says. “Take mine. I’ll find you later.” He pulls her gun out of her grasp quickly and places his own in her arms. It feels infinitely lighter than hers was, and it doesn’t appear to be one that is just rented out here. No, this boy definitely does this seriously. She tries to thank him but has trouble finding her voice. He gives her a gentle look, and she can finally make out his eyes under the paint splatter on his facemask. They’re a cool blue, and they relax her immediately. “Good luck,” he says quickly, holding up her gun and walking away from the line of fire.

As he goes, Shireen sees the paint that now covers his back. She wonders just how bruised _he’ll_ be when all this is said and done. After watching him for far too long, she shakes herself and heads deeper into the field, spotting targets and firing when she can. Her team seems to be winning, and she listens to the few shouted commands, cornering the last few targets before her team is declared winner.

A rush of elation sweeps through her, and she is excited to have won and not gotten hit during the last round. She walks off the field with a jump in her step, ready to remove the mask and make her breathing easier. Just before the exit, she runs into Edric.

“We won!” she shouts.

“Good for you,” he mutters, giving her a short half smile before sulking off the field.

Shireen stops dead in her tracks. He was angry at her, for some reason. She couldn’t fathom why until she notices that his entire group isn’t wearing yellow strips of tape on their arms. The feeling hits her like a punch to the gut. They had abandoned her, tried to purposefully exclude her to embarrass her and physically hurt her. Slouching a bit, Shireen returns to their table, keeping herself on the edge to stay as far away from them as possible.

They didn’t want her along after all. It was just a trick, some sort of prank to make her feel worse, to make them feel better about excluding her. She spares a quick glance back across the clearing, watching the other group still laughing and sharing snacks. A part of her wants to fit in a group like that, have people who will genuinely enjoy her company. It doesn’t seem likely, though. If she’s lucky, she’ll make it back home with much more interaction and then silently drift away from this group. They probably wouldn’t even notice. 

She glances up to them and sees half of them staring at her, nudging each other to draw their attention to her. Shireen wants to dig in deeper in herself, get swallowed up by the feeling of emptiness that consumes her, but a tap on her shoulder draws her attention behind her. Twisting in her seat, she finds the boy standing behind her. He still looks almost overly-happy, grinning at her though she doesn’t deserve it.

However, now she knows why everyone is staring. He’s ridiculously attractive. Even though he’s a bit flushed from the heat of running around, he’s got an aura of confidence about him that just makes him hard to look away from. His hair is even redder up close, and she sees that it has a slight curl to it, short as it is. His eyes are shining bright with some joke she’ll never know, and she can’t help but stare now that he’s so close to her. He raises his eyebrows at her, licks his lips, and asks, “Were you just planning on stealing my gun?”

“Oh!” Shireen jumps in her seat, putting some space between them. She takes the gun from the table and holds it out to him. “Sorry, I was just distracted.”

“You mean from our awesome victory?” he asks, grinning again. “It was a pretty sweet match.”

Shireen looks around quickly before meeting his gaze because he is actually talking to her, actually trying to make conversation with her. Gripping onto the tight feeling in her gut, she tries to give back. “Um, you got shot, like, six times.”

“Nine, actually,” he tells her proudly. “My brother had a lot of fun counting all the pellets as he peeled them off my back.”

“Yeah…” Shireen says slowly. She isn’t entirely sure how to respond to that. “That sounds like a lot of fun…”

He laughs, throwing his head back. “Well, finish taking your gear off, and we can go back and get your gun. I’ll even show you how to fix it,” he offers.

“Okay,” Shireen says. She automatically moves to remove her gear, thinking that she’ll take off one layer of clothing while she’s at it. Halfway through yanking off her sweater, she realizes that he’s definitely going to see her face soon, so she hides a bit, turning away from him. As she pulls it off and tosses it to the table, she notices the people of her group staring at her, obviously waiting to see his reaction.

“Jesus, how much clothes did you wear?” he asks. She can see him folding up her sweater in her peripheral vision, and her face heats up.

“I, uh, thought it was going to be colder,” she tells him, pulling off the sweats that cover her jeans. The pain from her wound flares up again and she rubs at it gently.

He notices. “Did you get hit?”

“Earlier,” she says, turning only slightly toward him before looking away again. “It’s fine.” She’s delayed the moment as long as she can: taking off gear and clothes, putting the gear back on. There’s now nothing she can do to get out of letting him see her. She can hear the people across the table snorting as they try to hold in their laughter. Sucking in a deep breath, Shireen turns back to him slowly.

He looks over her face briefly, but doesn’t show the slightest sign of being disgusted or looking scared of her. “Well, come on then,” he says, grabbing her wrist. “The next match might be soon.”

She lets him drag her over to the rowdy group of people, seeing eight other people, including the red-headed girl. To Shireen’s immense surprise, no one gives her any odd looks or makes a single comment about the scars on the side of her face. Instead, someone (who is very obviously this boy’s brother based on his similar appearance) says, “Found your thief, Rickon?”

“Not a thief,” the boy corrects. (Shireen assumes that his name is Rickon.) “I’m just helping her out because her gun doesn’t work.”

“And taking shots for her,” someone scoffs.

Shireen spins around and sees a small woman with short brown hair. Her arms are crossed over her chest, looking amused. Behind her is a tall man with jet black hair and bright blue eyes who vaguely resembles her uncle. The woman walks up closer, and says, “Playing the hero now?”

“Fuck off,” Rickon shoots back, pulling her over to the table with the red-headed girl who was feeding him earlier. She continues to do so, placing a wedge of apple in his mouth and grinning at him. Rickon chews through the bite, swallowing before he says, “Thanks, sis.”

The weight in her stomach suddenly lifts because he is here with family, and the red-headed girl is not his girlfriend, even though she doesn’t know why she cares. She shakes the feeling as he takes a seat at a table. Rickon pulls her gun in front of them, twisting it around and pointing to a specific part of it. “This measures the air pressure,” he tells her. “All the guns work like air compressors, but you need air to fire. Yours is just empty. You have to make sure you it’s got enough juice before you run out on a field.”

Rickon hands the gun back to her, smiling all the while. Shireen is immensely taken aback by his kindness, even more by his reaction to her scars. The feeling that something is going to go wrong soon is building up in her and she wants to demolish the dam sooner, rather than later.

“Um, why haven’t you, or anyone, said anything about…” she feels awkward now, embarrassed beyond belief that she’s bringing it up and giving him free reign to torment her.

Rickon just keeps smiling, though. He winks at her purposefully before calling out, “Hey, Sandor!”

Shireen turns to see where he’s looking, and a massive man at least a foot taller than her walks over. He’s bulky and huge, and Shireen feels incredibly small as he approaches. When he gets close enough, Shireen sees what he means and smiles in spite of herself. There is a knot of burns and scars all across the side of his face. “Hello,” she mutters out.

“Hey,” he says brusquely. He turns immediately to Rickon. “Need more paint?”

“Air,” Rickon says, like it was his intention all along. “Do I have to use the station?”

“Well, we didn’t bring any ourselves, kid,” Sandor says. “Get to it.”

Hopping up from his seat, Rickon holds out a hand to Shireen. She takes it tentatively, letting him help her up. She expects him to let go immediately, but he grabs on tighter when she stands, leading her over to the air station. Her stomach feels like its flipping, and she feels like this contact means something in spite of the fact that she literally just met this boy and they haven’t even been properly introduced yet. Shireen takes a deep breath to do it, when he starts talking again, telling her every detail about maintaining air pressure in paint guns even though most of it goes over her head.

They’re about to turn back to the tables when a familiar voice says, “Can you help me put air in my gun, too?”

Rickon snaps up to see who is talking, and Shireen turns, too, finding the girls of her group who are very obviously trying to flirt with Rickon. He seems oblivious to it, though. With a shrug, he says, “Sure.”

Shireen watches as he fills up their guns, not bothering to give them any explanation or further acknowledgement. He finishes the task quickly, picking up her gun again and reaching out for her hand but not quite making it there.

Together, they walk back, though much slower this time. Shireen is hopeful that he’s trying to spend more time with her, even though she’s now fully aware that it’s from the effects of her one-sided crush on him. She tries to shake the feeling, knowing that this can’t actually be anything given that she isn’t in a movie and even if she was, she definitely isn’t the main character; but she’ll be damned if she just lets this pass, so she turns to him and says, “My name’s Shireen, by the way.”

He blinks at her for a moment before a soft smile crosses his face. “That’s a pretty name,” he mumbles. His eyes go wide before he shakes himself. “I’m Rickon.”

Shireen can’t stop the smile that’s spreading across her face. “It’s nice to meet you,” she says finally, walking back to the tables.

She’s only fairly certain that she hears a small noise of assent from him as well. She’s so lost in the sensation that she doesn’t realize that storm clouds have definitely rolled in while they were distracted, and the referees are calling for one last game. Shireen rushes into her gear quickly, taking back her gun from Rickon and following him over to the last field. They’re waiting for the match to be called when Rickon leans over to her and mutters, “I’m not going to have to save you again, am I?”

Shireen turns to face him squarely. “No,” she says firmly. “But if you need saving, I’ve got your back.”

He laughs, then, loud enough for everyone to hear him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Rickon nudges her shoulder gently, and then the whistle blows. “Don’t be shy about ammo!” he calls, running off onto the field.

Instinctively, Shireen runs off after him, but she stops herself behind the first barrier she can find. She isn’t going to be chasing him around. She’s got her own fight to finish. Crouching and crawling through the dirt, Shireen scans around for any of the people she arrived here with, trying to make them the targets of this match. Rain starts to fall as they play, obscuring everyone’s vision and making shots far wilder than they should be.

Across the field, Shireen spots Rickon sneaking around a barrel, but someone is very clearly coming up behind him, closing in to fire at extremely close ranks. Seizing her gun up, Shireen aims the best she can and fires several times. Rickon hits the dirt fast, and the other person becomes covered in paint. Grinning to herself, Shireen keeps going forward, picking up her pace and firing with far more confidence. She gets a few people out before she starts getting targeted herself, and she takes cover. As she gets ready to pop out, a loud roll of thunder comes overhead, scaring her and making her lose her footing. She takes two shots to the leg and begins making her way off the field. A few stray pellets hit her as she goes, but they seem insignificant now.

Sitting down on a patch of grass, Shireen watches the lightning roll through the sky as she tracks Rickon’s progress in the game. He’s doing extremely well, even though the rain has started to really come down, and when he finally takes a hit, he seems happy to be bouncing off the field.

“You hurt bad?” he asks, pointing down at the splotches of paint on her leg.

“Not too much,” she says, shrugging it off, even though she’s certain that she already has several bruises.

“I figured,” he says. “Must be easy for someone who goes Rambo and saves my ass.”

“You needed it,” Shireen jests, aiming a weak swipe of her hand out at his arm. He grins at her and they walk back over to the resting tables now, where his sister waits for them under a large umbrella.

“Good game?” she calls.

Rickon nods, slinging an arm over Shireen’s shoulders. “We had Rambo on the team, so it wasn’t too hard.”

“Shut up,” Shireen tells him, rolling her eyes but entirely unwilling to hit his arm off.

“It was the best game, though,” he says. “A good end to a good day.”

“Only good?” Shireen questions, finding that it’s easy to be cheeky and playful around him.

He shrugs and starts pulling off his gear. “There’s something that could easily make it better.”

“What’s that?” Shireen asks, thinking that she already knows where this is going and praying that she’s right.

“Your number,” he replies without missing a beat. He looks eager to have it, and the light feeling in her stomach tells her that she was hoping he’d ask for it. Smiling to herself, she walks around the tables as casually as she can manage, hoping to go snag her phone from her belongings to make the exchange.

However, when she gets back to the table, she can’t find her phone or her extra layer of clothing, both of which she needs. Her heart starts racing again, and she hurries around the area before realizing that something important is also missing: her ride home. Fully panicking now, Shireen tries to find a way to get through this without ending up stranded on a paintball field in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Hey, you okay?” Rickon calls. A few more members of his group have returned from the field and they are quickly stripping out of their gear and taking shelter in the cars. Rickon, however, jogs over to her. His expression becomes concerned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing—I just... All my things are missing,” she says. She can feel the tears building in her eyes, and she fights the urge to cry. Of course, she shouldn’t have trusted these people with her things when she can’t even remember their names. Still, she’s overwhelmed now, forgetting that she was in the middle of something else.

Rickon places a calm hand on her shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Let’s go check the lost and found,” he tells her. “People lose their shit all the time. It’s fine.”

“You don’t have to,” Shireen says quickly. “I know you have other things to do.” She steps out into the rain. Even though she knows that she will get soaked through quickly, she’s hoping that the rain will hide any tears should they come.

“I’ve got nothing better to do,” he says, smiling after her and getting soaked himself. “Come on.”

The water easily soaks into them after they made themselves such easy targets, and Shireen finds it fitting that the day would end up like this. She’s seeking comfort from a complete stranger after being abandoned by people she thought were her friends. Sucking in a shaking breath, Shireen follows Rickon to the lost and found where he asks about her things. To her surprise, the man pulls out a bag, handing them to her without question. She nearly bursts into tears from sheer joy. Immediately, she makes to dig for her phone, knowing that she’ll have to call her dad right now if he’s going to get here before half the roads flood. Rickon’s hand lands over hers, stopping her right when she finds it.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“I have to call my dad,” Shireen says, her teeth beginning to chatter from the cold. “He’s going to pick me up.”

“Half these roads are going to be flooded in about ten minutes,” Rickon tells her calmly. “Just… come with us. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“I—I can’t,” Shireen says, feeling panicked again. “You don’t even know where I live.”

Rickon shrugs again, but he tucks away her phone before steering her back toward the cars. “More adventure that way,” he says. “It’ll be fine.”

He takes her back where his sister is still waiting, though she’s wearing a significantly heavier jacket now. Beside the other car is the man who she assumes is his brother. He calls, “Stop flirting already, Rickon, we’ve got to beat out this storm.”

“Fuck off, Robb,” Rickon says sharply, leading Shireen straight up to his sister. Then, he drops his voice. “Hey, uh, we need to take her home.”

The red-headed girl just looks at him a moment before pulling out a towel for each of them and wrapping them up. Rickon fixes Shireen’s towel and nudges her into the car, ignoring the calls from his brother. He enters after her, shutting the door and keeping the noise out. Then, his sister appears in the driver’s seat, turning over the engine and starting to drive.

“Hey, uh… so where do you live?” Rickon asks. He reaches over slowly and grips her hand. He feels hot against her skin, but it isn’t until he puts another towel over her that she realizes how cold she is.

“I’m… I’m up in Winterfell; we just moved there,” she mutters. “It’s by—”

“You live in Winterfell?” Rickon cuts her off. “No shit?”

“Yeah,” Shireen mumbles, blinking up at him through her wet hair. “I’d only just met Edric and he asked if I—”

“Edric? Edric Storm?” Rickon questions. “That douchebag senior on the basketball team Edric Storm?”

“You know Edric?” Shireen asks, giving him a shocked look.

A slow grin starts to take over his face. “Please tell me that you actually attend Winterfell High.”

“I do,” Shireen says. Rickon twists his hand around to lace their fingers together, and Shireen’s heart swells at the intimacy. She’s glad that he’s being so bold when she would never dare.

“Well, since you live so close, do you want to come over for pizza before going home?” he offers. “It’s sort of a tradition for us.”

There’s a small lump in Shireen’s throat, and she’s tempted to say no, to maintain her distance from whatever this is because it doesn’t sound proper. But his sister is here, and she’s got a soft smile on her face, and he hasn’t once questioned her scars, and she’s already in their car… She nods quickly. “I’d love to.”

Rickon did not stop smiling the whole way back to his house. Occasionally, Shireen sneaks glances at him, but he does not stop smiling, even when she gives him questioning looks. The rain is falling in heavy sheets, and the streets are turning into small rivers. By the time they pull into a driveway, Shireen is positive that this is one of the biggest storms she has ever seen in her life. Once the feeling of awe dissipates, she is stuck feeling nervous at being over at his house despite the fact that she’d not known him prior to this day.

Before exiting the car, Rickon leans across the backseat to make sure she is covered in towels. Then, he gives her a reassuring smile and leads the way out. Hopping out quickly, he waits just outside for her, looking expectant. Quickly, she slides across the backseat and Rickon helps her down, shutting the door quickly and leading her to the front door that’s been propped open.

“Sandor claimed the upstairs shower,” his sister says.

Shireen looks around at the house, it’s big but it isn’t excessive at all. She guesses that he must have a large family. She’s caught up looking at all the decorations and pictures when Sansa taps her elbow. Then, she glances up, clutching her towels to stop them from falling.

“You must be freezing, honey,” she says softly. “Come on. You can use the downstairs shower.”

Rickon lingers in the doorway, waving her off with a small smile. His sister leads her down a short hall and opens the door to the bathroom for her.

“Towels are right here,” she says, placing a hand on the pile of plush towels in the room. “And if you want to leave your clothes outside the door, I’ll put them in the wash for you. In the meantime, I’ll grab you something else to wear. You’re about Arya’s size…”

“Arya?” Shireen asks.

“My sister,” she replies. “I’m Sansa, by the way. I know Rickon was too flustered to do any introductions during the car ride. You must make him nervous.”

Shireen felt her cheeks immediately go hot. She certainly didn’t think she was capable of making anyone nervous, particularly when she was soaking wet and looking extremely unattractive. She was still glued to the spot when Sansa closed the door with a laughing, “Maybe the feeling’s mutual.”

Shaking herself, Shireen quickly gets ready to shower, placing her clothes outside and moving into the wondrous heat of the water. Even after she finishes, the sound of droplets doesn’t subside, and she wraps herself up in a towel before looking outside for a set of clothes. Luckily, Sansa has provided comfortable things to wear on a rainy day, so she puts on the yoga pants and long-sleeved shirt. She dries her hair the best she can before sneaking back to the front of the house.

It’s nosier now than it had been before, and Shireen follows her ears into the kitchen, where there’s a large group of people standing around the island, all talking loudly. Rickon notices her first, stopping mid-sentence to walk over. He’s also dressed differently now, obviously having showered in the meantime. The smile is now permanently on his face, and he reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently.

“Isn’t it a little strange to pick up girls while playing paintball?” someone asks.

Even that comment isn’t enough to make him scowl. He just shrugs and pulls her into the conversation. Everyone around them settles back into their usual flow of conversation, but Rickon turns to face her fully and leans down slightly to get close to her ear, tall as he is.

“Do you want ice for any bruises?” he asks.

Shireen finds it hard not to stare at him. It’s only been a few hours, but her heart is jumping out of her chest just from being so close to him, and she feels like she’s swallowed a grapefruit whole, heavy as the feeling is in her stomach. She brushes a strand of wet hair behind her ear, remembering the few bruises on her legs. None of them were that bad, so she just shakes her head. “I’m fine,” she tells him. “But how’s your back?”

In response, he gives her a bigger grin before turning around and lifting his shirt. Shireen sucks in a sharp inhale. He has at least five massive bruises and three welts across his back. Already they are turning purple. Shireen absently lifts a hand to brush over them and he winces.

“Maybe not the best idea right now,” he says.

“You need ice,” Shireen says firmly.

He shrugs. “I’ve had worse,” he tells her. “Besides, I should probably warn you before—”

“SURPRISE!” someone yells from the front door.

“—that.” Rickon closes his eyes and shakes his head. Behind him, the remainder of the group from paintballing scrambles in carrying quite a few large pizza boxes and a massive box for pastries.

“Oh, you brought her home!” someone exclaims. The entire group laughs heartily, putting down their load and milling about the kitchen. Shireen watches them all move around with extreme comfort, as if they live here as well. A few people lean in toward Rickon and mutter out things she can’t hear. Rickon becomes only slightly flustered, shoving most of them off.

After a while, Rickon takes her to the food and they both prepare plates filled with pizza and pour drinks. Then, Rickon leads her to a side room that is entirely empty. She takes a seat on the couch next to him, putting her drink down on the table and tucking her feet under her body.

“So… whose birthday is it?” she asks. Shireen picks up her pizza and takes a bite, watching him all the while.

Rickon immediately goes red, staring down at his pizza and trying not to look at her. After a moment, he mutters out a small, “Mine.”

“It’s your birthday?” Shireen asks, putting her plate on her lap and leaning over. Then, she makes a face. “And you’re spending it with me?”

“Well, I, uh… I wanted to ask you out,” Rickon admits. His cheeks are still tinged red, but now he’s sneaking glances up at her through his eyelashes. His hair is darker now that it’s wet, and it makes his eyes seem that much brighter. He looks a little hopeful, probably because she’s already at his house and eating pizza with him.

Shireen looks away, picking a pepperoni off her pizza and sticking it in her mouth. She chews slowly, watching him squirm. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about it in the short time she’s known him. He’s actually still paying attention to her, and he didn’t need to help her out or offer her a ride home especially since it’s his birthday. She glances over to him, and he’s still looking at her, watching her with a hopeful expression.

“Well, I didn’t get you a birthday present,” Shireen muses, trying to see his reaction.

Rickon grins. “You can always give me your number.”

Laughing, Shireen gives him a small smile, turning back to her food. “I could probably do that,” she says. “Or do you want something else?”

His mouth opens immediately before he shuts it. There’s a look of extremely concentration on his face, and he’s obviously struggling to respond with any sort of clarity. Then, he sighs and mutters out, “Yeah, just your number. I mean… for now. But I’ll see you at school, right?”

Shireen smiles at him, digging out her phone and tossing it to him. He’s a bundle of joy as he taps at her screen, typing in his name and phone number. Eventually, they make it back to the chaos of the family party. Shireen thoroughly enjoys her time with his family, watching everyone tease and joke around with each other. His parents don’t even bat an eye at the addition to the party, greeting her nicely before cake and gift-opening.

For the most part, Rickon receives games and toys even though he’s probably close to her age and she doesn’t remember getting toys for the last few years. Still, she watches as he happily opens up all of his presents.

“Your friend didn’t get you anything,” someone shouts loudly. Shireen whips around at the voice, catching the sight of his brother Robb smirking.

Rickon looks like he’s about to shout back some sort of expletive at him, but Shireen stops him by grabbing his elbow. He turns to look at her. She’s positive that he can hear her heartbeat, loud as it is in her ears, but she’s emboldened by being here, by actually having a friend, and by the fire that’s burning in her stomach despite the rainy day. Leaning up on her toes, she kisses his cheek fleetingly. “Happy birthday,” she says, trying to smile through the blush on her face.

After the small uproar from his family, things die back down to what she expects is normalcy for them. Everyone is still loud, and they treat her like she’s always been part of their shenanigans. Sansa and Arya are particularly kind to her; though neither of them relents from teasing Rickon about having a crush on a girl he met paintballing. She’s spent most of the day being happier than she’s been in the weeks since she moved to Winterfell, and she loves the company of this family.

Everyone’s settled down to play video games when Rickon sneaks back to her side and asks when she wants to go home. The honest answer is _never_ , but she recognizes that her family will worry. She checks the time, and soon his mother is driving her back, while Rickon nervously sits with her in the back seat. He doesn’t seem to be able to sit still, and he hasn’t tried to hold her hand again. She’s a little disappointed, but she just gives him a smile when they finally pull up in front of her house. It’s still raining, and Shireen is preparing herself to brave the storm when Rickon pulls out an umbrella and offers to walk her to the door.

It’s then that he sidles up close to her. Under the pretense of making sure she stays dry, he wraps an arm around her, following her lead to the front door. Once they’re under the eaves, he lowers the umbrella.

“So… do you maybe want to go paintballing again sometime?” he asks shyly. He’s awkwardly holding out the umbrella, as if he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, and Shireen finds it endearing.

“Or, you know, we could go on a real date,” Shireen says.

He looks up at her with a shocked expression before he starts grinning again. “Yeah, we should do that,” he replies. “I’ll call you, then?”

“Yeah, you should do that.”

Rickon idles in front of her, and she waits for him to do something because he looks nervous about something. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “You’re really pretty and I’ll call you later,” he blurts out, fast enough so that Shireen takes a moment to realize what he said. Before she can respond, he leans forward quickly and kisses her cheek, right over her scars.

Dazed by the actions, Shireen just watches Rickon quickly grip his umbrella and start running back to the car, calling out, “I’ll call you later, okay? I—”

He slips on the ground, falling flat on the slick floor. Shireen steps forward to help him, but he waves her off, bouncing back to his feet.

“I’m fine!” he calls, rushing back to the car where his mother is shaking her head at him. Shireen can’t help but look after this seemingly-perpetually-injured boy, but he’s warmth and kindness. There’s a new feeling of joy bubbling in her chest, and she wonders what will happen if she tells her dad everything that happened today. Even though she’s nervous and excited about whatever might happen next, she can’t help but feel that with Rickon there, she’ll be ready for it.


End file.
